


Something's Gotta Be Done

by twowritehands



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: #Fluff with Angst #Fluff with Feels #sensitive topics #nothing graphic, #Wayne's Social Skills, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-17 06:50:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15455697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twowritehands/pseuds/twowritehands
Summary: Exploring one way Wayne might have met his best bud and how their friendship might have evolved as they grew up





	Something's Gotta Be Done

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: this story deals with an outsider's perspective to sexual abuse and briefly mentions OC suicide

Wayne was thirteen and, due to a headstart on his growth spurt, starting to be a real help around the farm. This meant that, in and around chorin, he stuck to his dad like a scarecrow shadow so as to learn all parts of being a farmer. They ran errands for the farm in town together. Wayne could already drive the truck on the more isolated stretches of road. He became familiar with auctions and feed store employees and the boring process of the Agricultural Committee.

Lots of people around town spoke to Wayne’s father with respect. Lots of people mentioned things to Wayne’s father, things that needed sorting. Wayne's father always helped a man that asked for it, and stood up for those that needed the protection.

Clear cut rules to live by. Wayne made them his own.

Ever since Wayne won his first school yard scrap, he’d been allowed to tag along whenever his father had someone to sort out. Wayne’s dad called it _an education_. Wayne didn't mind regular school learning but real world application type things, like farming and how to fight, he enjoyed so much more.

Plus, he felt no small amount of pride watching bad guys crumple into the dirt while his father shook out his bloody knuckles and rolled back down his cuffs as he walked away the victor.

“Something’s gotta be done,” someone said to Wayne's father one afternoon. “It just ain't right.”

Wayne knew this meant his dad would be squaring off and punching someone later. And he assumed he'd be coming along to watch the scrap. Maybe even have a scrap of his own if the bad guy had a kid near Wayne's own age that took offense to his dad being set right.

Wayne hadn’t heard the details of the who or the why, having come up on the conversation late. He'd been distracted by a box of free German Shepherd puppies on the corner outside the Ag Hall. With the runt of the litter in the crook of his arm, Wayne listened as Mrs Beverly gripped his father’s arm and said,

“The official report was that there is nothing to support the claim, but I'm not the only one that sees it, hon. We tried to talk to Sara but she is already too far gone on the--” she cut off with a half glance at Wayne that made him curious. The older lady cleared her throat and continued. “It's just a shame and we all thought of you. If anybody on god's green earth can make this right, it's you.”

The puppy squirmed in Wayne’s arms as Wayne frowned up at his father who looked more troubled than usual. He breathed out with a twist of his head like an aborted head shake, “I ain't the proper authorities, Mrs. Beverly.”

“Something’s gotta be done is all I know.”

 

As Wayne and his father climbed into the truck, the puppy leapt into the middle space of the bench seat. Wayne asked. “Who we settin’ straight, d’yad?”

“Another one, Wayne?” His dad asked instead, scooping up the puppy against his chest and giving her a good scrub all over. She went crazy for it, as all dogs did around Wayne’s father.

“She was the last one in the box,” Wayne defended. “Nobody wanted her.”

“Can't see why not. She's gonna be a damn pretty dog.”

“She's gonna be a gorgeous dog. She's just a little on the small side.” Wayne took the puppy back. “So who needs to be tuned up?”

Wayne’s father sighed and started the truck. It kicked to life with a roar. “Sara’s new beau.”

Letterkenny wasn't such a big town that Wayne needed to ask Sara who. He knew Sara to be the woman that recently moved into the half sunken old house a ways down the lane from the farm. Just last spring, Wayne and his father had passed her walking down the shoulder of the road with a man who was dragging her by the hair.

Wayne’s father had pulled the truck over right then and there and handled the situation. The guy had left town that night.

“So she got another fella thinks he can kick her around?”

“Got herself a fella thinks he can do a lotta things,” came the mysterious answer through an oddly tight grimace.

“Are we going to handle it now?”

“What are we going to name this one?” Wayne’s father asked instead as the puppy squirmed up against his jean clad thigh and showed her belly with a fairly bossy little gruff. Wayne’s father had a little smile as he released the gear stick to give the puppy more scratches.

It wasn't like Wayne’s father to avoid talking about upcoming scraps. And it also wasn't like him to drop Wayne at the house and tell him to stay put. But he did.

Wayne cradled the puppy and asked, “Why can't I come watch?”

“Not this one, son. Tell your mom it was my idea to get another dog. And make sure your sister doesn't name her. I still ain't lived down having to call Froofroo off Roy’s labrador.”

Wayne went into the house and looked back in time to see the truck turn the wrong way at the end of the lane. Going towards town, not Sara’s place.

Wayne's mother sighed but then smiled at the puppy. Katy leapt up from her homework and squealed over what was now the eighth dog the family had taken in.

All that was needed was for Wayne to say there was sorting to do, and Wayne’s mother set her jaw all tight but accepted the news. She didn't ask why Wayne wasn't with his father.

Wayne hoped his parents hadn't had some kind of agreement that Wayne would never go on a scrap again. He knew his mom hated him being involved. Had she won? Was Wayne going to have to stay behind with the women from now on?

Half an hour later, the phone rang and mom spoke on it for a bit. Wayne could tell she was speaking to his father. But she got all tense like when Wayne’s father had been told of the situation in town earlier. She curled her fingers into the phone cord and said lowly, “You kick his ass, baby.”

Not long after that--when Wayne had already been told to mind his business for asking questions--he heard the truck as it bounced by the end of the lane. He looked out in time to see that behind the truck was a townie cop car. Wayne frowned. He knew Roy, his dad’s bud, had a badge but he never knew Roy to back Wayne’s father up while in uniform. He turned from the window and saw his mother worrying her lip.

“This puppy needs a name!” Wayne’s mother announced. “Exercise, discipline and affection in that order. But we can't properly discipline her without a name can we?”

Wayne spent a solid three hours arguing puppy names with his mother and sister. They liked the candy theme. Pitching names like Sugar or Muffin or Cookie. Wayne thought something like Bossy more appropriate, since the puppy wasn't shy about what she wanted.

Wayne’s mother kept looking at the clock. Wayne knew a scrap didn't usually take a whole lot of time. But the sitting and talking and drinking afterwards did. Everything was fine. Probably.

The puppy was an easy distraction. What was most troubling was the way Katy and the puppy took to each other instantly. Katy tended to play rough but this puppy tried out her fiercest growl and best attack moves.

“You're going to make her violent.” Wayne complained.

“What's wrong with one more violent girl in the world?” Eleven year old Katy asked.

The sound of the truck coming up the lane sent Wayne shooting to his feet and his mother hurrying outside. Katy, laying in the floor and holding the still unnamed puppy above her head, finally caught onto the fact that something unusual was going on. She got to her knees with a frown. “What's up, Wayne?”

“Don't know yet.” Wayne gruffed with his arms crossed and his feet planted firmly, facing the front door.

Wayne’s father came in first. Bloody knuckles. Dirty shirt. Split lip. And bizarrely, a pillow and blanket slung over one arm. “Wayne, Katy,” he said. “We have a guest. You know where the cot is. Get it.”

In behind Wayne’s father came a boy. Skinny, pale with shaggy hair and a black eye. He was Katy’s age. Based on the way she cried, “You!” she knew him from school.

He had a backpack on his shoulder, red shot eyes and a snotty nose from crying. He looked wide eyed at Katy and then at Wayne and then at the floor. Wayne’s mother came in behind this boy with a soft hand on his shoulder.

“This is Daryl. He’s sleeping over for a while.”

“I know who he is, he's in my class!” Katy announced.

“Then you’ll be able to help him with his homework,” Wayne’s mother said, directing them to the table where the work books were still laid out.

“But what happened to his face?” Katy asked as she skipped to her chair.

“What's it look like, Katy?” Wayne’s father fairly snapped. “The boy got in a scrap and did just fine. Don't ask about it again.”

Wayne flared up just then, his resentment flashing red hot through his body. “Why did _he_ get to fight, and I had to stay behind?”

“And why is he staying with us again?” Katy demanded. The puppy leapt out of her arms and went straight to Daryl who had crossed only halfway through the living room.

“Because I say so,” Wayne’s dad answered them both tersely. “His mother is going to a place that will help her get better, and he's going to stay here and help us out around the farm after school. Never too early to learn the work of a real man. Right son?”

“Right,” Wayne answered slowly, squinting at the new boy. All he saw was another runt, but not nearly as bold and adventurous. Daryl stooped to pet the puppy that bounced around his ratty old sneakers. Wayne found it odd how gently the boy touched the animal. Puppies were resilient and could take pettings four times as hard. Didn't he know that?

“Wayne, Katy,” their father snapped. “I already said once for you to get the cot. Don't make me say it a third time.”

They scrambled up the stairs to the attic and then, bickering about knocked shins and smashed fingers, got it set up in Wayne’s bedroom. Wayne's mother arrived with sheets and the blanket and pillow that had come in with the boy. “Homework,” she ordered as she set to work dressing the cot mattress. “Both of you. Now. Dinner's almost ready.”

“Mama,” Katy said without going. “Kids at school say Daryl's mama does meth.”

“She’s going where they’ll help her stop, sweetie. And don't make Daryl talk about it unless he wants to. You hear me?”

“No, it's just…” Katy insisted. “Can kids do meth, too?

“Why do you ask?”

“He's been weird ever since he moved here a few months back. So skinny and nervous and recently he’s got bruises all the time. Like the skids in the parking lot.”

“That’s not meth, baby. Daryl hasn't had it easy. So we’ll make it real nice and easy here for him. Hear me?”

“He's gotta do chores like us,” Wayne said. “That's not easy.”

“I'd say it’ll still be a great deal easier than he's had, sweetheart. Don't make fun of him for not keeping up, okay?”

“I don't make fun of runts.”

“Calling him a runt _is_ making fun, Wayne.”

Wayne frowned. “But we love runts. We always bring home the runt.”

Wayne’s mother smiled, ran her fingers through Wayne's hair and kissed his forehead. “Never ever change, baby.”

Wayne didn't know what she meant by that, exactly, but he was just fine with the idea of not changing.

 

The puppy traded from lap to lap all through dinner. Wayne’s father gave any candy related names a hard no. With previous puppies he had already allowed Jellybean, Butterscotch, Taffy and, against his better judgement, Froofroo. He demanded something less soft this time around.

Daryl had scarfed down his meat and greens and had the puppy in his lap. He'd gained confidence in playing rough with her, making her growl all sweet and try to bark.

“But we like candy!” Katy cried. “You _have_ to name dogs after things you like!”

“What things do you like, Daryl?” Wayne’s mother asked.

He was quiet for a long time. “I like when it thunders.”

“Thunder,” Wayne’s father tried out with a frown of interest.

“It's not a girl name,” Wayne argued.

“Stormy is,” Katy said.

 

When it was all said and done, Daryl stayed for six weeks. He slept in Wayne’s room, crying in the dark at first. And his first few days of chorin were almost painful to look at. But he wolfed down his meals. And did his homework faster than both Wayne and Katy.

Soon enough, he was laughing and talking to Wayne well into the night. They talked about funny things mostly. And played word games that Daryl taught Wayne. Like Daryl says a word and Wayne has to tell a story using as many words starting with the same letter as he can until Daryl says another word.

Soon enough, Daryl wasn't shying away from cows during chorin. He was getting them to move around the barn with expert pokes and shoves. He was milking them with ease and his hands never seemed to get tired of the squeezing motion.

Before long, Daryl was getting the same lessons on how to throw a punch from Wayne’s dad as Wayne had gotten when he was 11. He was helping train the dogs. He was eating all the yogurt Wayne's mom could buy. And he was leading conversation at the dinner table, teaching his word games to the whole family. Like squeezing the same word into a hundred different phrases.

Wayne came to count on Daryl being there to race Katy down the lane to the idling school bus of a morning. Or Daryl being there to toss a ball back and forth when the chorin was done. Or Daryl staying up late with a flashlight, reading a book from the school library.

It was like having a little brother.  A temporary little brother.

When the six weeks were over, Sara was back and off the meth. Daryl packed his backpack and folded his blanket around his pillow. He looked everyone in the eye as he said goodbye. He ordered Stormy not to jump on him and then bent to praise her when she promptly sat on her little rump.

Wayne had never seen a runt stop being a runt before. He figured in that moment that it made sense his mother was always so set against Wayne and Katy changing, because apparently people could change a lot.

But that wasn't the last of Daryl being around the farm.

He got off the bus with Wayne and Katy every afternoon from school, and helped with the chorin’. Then he walked home through the fields for dinner. He wasn't so pale anymore. And he wasn't so skinny. And Wayne never saw any other bruises.

Sara made desserts that she often brought over. And she threw super soft birthday parties for her son that Wayne and Katy had more than their fair share of fun attending.

Daryl spent the night often, just for convenience's sake. They pulled the cot from the attic and for a night or two a week, it was like Wayne had his temporary little brother back.

Wayne was fifteen and Daryl was thirteen when the first incident happened. They were swimming in the creek. Katy had gotten popular so was off with her other friends. (Wayne didn't have other friends. People at school didn't make sense, often caring about things that Wayne had no interest in. Other farmers were easier to speak to. They kept things formal. Easy to navigate. But no one was easier to talk to than Daryl.)

So it was just the two of them.

Underwear served just as well as bathing suits. Wayne had already known about the cigarette burns on Daryl's thighs, and how it was politest to pretend they weren't there. But being fifteen now, as opposed to thirteen when he last saw or thought about these scars, Wayne now had some uncomfortable inklings about what could be harder to endure than daily chorin’.

Daryl laughed freely as he swung on the rope out over the creek. Wayne climbed up a branch that hung low out over the water, and he saw Daryl, floating on his back, staring up at him. Lips parted. For a while.

Wayne’s teenaged body had begun to be sculpted from hard labor and hormones. He wasn't yet as strong as his father, but he was well on the way. He already had some of the body hair. And he was well used to the way the eyes of passing girl’s caught on him and brightened.

He _wasn't_ used to the same eyes coming from a boy.

But here they were. Daryl’s look climbed all over Wayne, lingering like the water droplets rolling down his body. Wayne cleared his throat. Daryl snapped out of it, blushed and sunk under the water.

Wayne forgot about the whole thing. Seemed easier.

 

The following years featured a handful more incidents that were just easier to erase. Daryl staring. Accidental touches that made Daryl’s breath hitch. Daryl laughing a little louder than the others when Wayne made a joke.

Meanwhile, girls at school became more and more perplexing. Wayne didn't like the way they stalked after him, orchestrating to get him alone. The bolder ones grabbed his belt buckle and sent everything all hot blooded and hooey.

After more than one embarrassing misunderstanding, Wayne's mother explained why girls touched their hair or made big eyes or did squeeze-bys, and Wayne learned how to date. So he had his fair share of handies and hummers and dry humping by the time he was a senior in highschool. He never went further. Didn't seem polite.

The same passage of time saw Daryl get broader in the shoulders. After a day's work, he sweated through two layers of clothes, which was more than Wayne sweated. He could hock a loogie six feet through the air, and he won just as many fights as he lost.

Oh, and he was the first of the two of them to go full blown toe curlin with a girl. He told Wayne all about it. Wayne listened and asked questions and decided it was all maybe best left at handies and hummers.

 

Wayne was seventeen. Daryl was fifteen and hoovering out Wayne’s mother’s fridge on the regular. No one made much mention of it, since Darry did his fair share on the farm and everyone knew that what Sara was buying wasn't groceries.

After a day of doing hay, they fetched their gloves and the baseball. Wayne kicked out of his boots to air out his sweaty toes and so did Daryl. Then, because there was no breeze to ease the summer sun, Darry went ahead and stripped his coveralls.

As usual, Darry wore cut off jean shorts underneath. Unlike usual, Wayne found the sight of ragged denim clinging to Darry’s meaty thighs the most perplexing thing of all.

Wayne’s first throw of the ball was way off. Daryl laughed and chirped the hell out of him as he hurried barefoot to retrieved it. Wayne barely managed to catch Darry’s pitch. Darry laughed and made more jokes.

Maybe this was heat stroke. Wayne felt jumpy inside. Like someone had a hold of his belt buckle. Like those thoughts that he sometimes had--those crazy inappropriate Darry thoughts that floated through his fevered mind at inconvenient times--were more than just thoughts. Like they were _possibilities._

Back and forth the ball went, and after Wayne did a run and jump to catch one of Darry’s wayward pitches, he decided it was too hot to stay in his sleeves and stripped his shirt.

Daryl blushed. His eyes lingered and darted away. Wayne felt things going hooey.

“Whew,” Darry mopped his sticky curls from his forehead. “Its hotter than ten blazes out here.”

“Wanna go for a swim?”

“Race ya!”

They shot off barefoot toward the creek. Darry could keep up with Wayne, despite having shorter legs. Wayne nudged an elbow into his bud whenever they pulled up beside each other. Darry shoved him and tried to get him in a headlock.

Wresslin landed Darry against a tree. Wayne pinned him to it. By now things had gone completely crazy. There was this idea in Wayne’s head that wasn't totally disagreeable. That maybe it was okay that Daryl looked so much and blushed so much and laughed so loud.

Getting closer wasn't disagreeable.

Wayne’s entire front was pressed against Darry’s back, pushing him against the tree trunk. Wayne brushed his fingers where the jean shorts cut across Darry’s hairy thigh. This produced a sound from his bud that was _more than okay_ for Wayne.

Wayne was breathing hard and not from the run. He felt good and like he could feel even better at the same time. He had thoughts of a hummer or maybe some good old fashioned grinding. Couldn't be all that different with a guy. Right?

He wasn't all that gentle as he turned his bud around for a smooch. Mainly because Wayne’s favorite girls asked him not to be so gentle. Darry had gone pliant and turned easy. Wayne shoved him back against the tree, threading a hand up Darry’s shirt and grabbing a fist of ass and denim with the other, and pressing in close and by then Darry had gone tense.

Wayne pulled back enough to see Darry’s eyes bugged out. He looked _afraid_.

Wayne paused. “Bud?”

Blushing fierce, Darry dropped his eyes and trembled but it didn't seem like a good tremble. It seemed like when a dog that's been kicked knows he's in trouble.

Wayne moved, just a shift of his weight but Darry flinched and turned his head full away. Wayne, utterly lost, grabbed Darry’s chin trying to make him look up. “Hey, bud--”

Darry, looking terrified, flailed and squirmed until he was out of Wayne’s grasp and then, with unmistakable tears in his eyes, he ran.

 

They didn't talk about it.

For starters, Daryl stayed away, so it wasn't all that easy to talk about it even if Wayne had a mind to. Wayne's parents asked about Daryl's absence and Wayne couldn't give an answer.

Katy asked and Wayne just said, “Mind your beezwax.”

Katy reported a week later that Daryl hadn't been to school. She went to Daryl's house and came back pissed and saying that boys were fucktards and she didn’t care anyway. Wayne asked what happened and she snapped at him to mind his own beezwax.

 

Wayne worked alone with his father after school for the first time in years. It didn't feel right, chorin without Daryl. He knew he messed things up, but he was confused where it went wrong.

Darry never looked at him any different than the girls that wanted to be tossed around a bit.

He stopped mid work and just asked outright, “Is Darry a sally or not?”

Wayne’s father paused and then turned. “Why do you ask?”

“I always thought he was,” Wayne said. And he was afraid that sounded like he was pouting.

“Well to be fair, son, I kinda thought so, too. But you never can tell about a person. What happened? Did he say he’s not?”

“Well, no,” Wayne said. And he frowned even deeper as he considered the unreasonably complex relationship between actions and words and words that weren't said.

“Listen, son, Darry ain't had it easy.” This was only about the nine hundredth time one of Wayne's parents said this to him. “He probably needs time.”

“Darry’s mom’s boyfriend beat him up,” Wayne said, annoyed enough to lose his temper and with it his manners when it came to talking about what's not talked about. “I know that. Darry’s mom’s boyfriend burned him with cigarettes. I know that, too. But what I don't know is what does that have do with a fella being soft or not being soft.”

Wayne’s father looked intensely uncomfortable. He glanced at the house. He looked down at his boots. He clicked his tongue and sighed. “Wayne. You know what a pedophile is?”

“Gross. Don't talk about the indecent.” Wayne turned away, and crossed his arms.

“Darry’s mom’s boyfriend was a pedophile, Wayne. We won't talk about it anymore but just think about that okay? Maybe that'll answer your questions.”

“No thank you, d’yad. I won't think about it. That sort of thing is just not to be thought of. Who wants to think of it? It's just not decent. I won't think of that sort of thing. Fuck.”

Wayne’s father came near and gripped Wayne’s shoulder. “I get that, son. But just think how Darry probably doesn't want to think of it either. He probably doesn't like to be reminded. Did you say something that might have reminded him?”

Wayne frowned. He shook his head in answer but couldn't bring himself to say what actually happened. He had an uncomfortable feeling now that he'd done something wrong. He didn't like to disappoint his father.

“Did you…” Wayne’s father looked almost purple like he really didn't want to ask. He glanced at the house and removed his hat, shuffled it in his hands. “Did you--maybe-- _do_ something that coulda reminded him?”

Wayne lowered his head, humiliated to be now on the topic of his sexlife. His father had given him a sex talk years ago. Basic do’s and don'ts.  No means stop. Condoms are a necessary evil. That sort of thing. And at the end of it, he’d said. _No shame in love, son. Whoever you love, you just love ‘em right and true. Never mind anyone else’s views._

Now, Wayne’s father studied him and then just went back to work. Wayne went back to work, too. They worked in silence. Wayne pondered the new information regarding social relationships that he had previously believed he understood. Things that had always been murky began to make sense. Things that used to make sense became murky. And a lot more stuff became so incredibly sad that Wayne wanted to hit something.

“So Darry hasn't had it easy,” Wayne said.

“Nope.”

They worked on in silence. As they headed into the house, tired and sore, Wayne broke their silence once more.

“We should pay Darry to work here. That way he won't be allowed to just not come back.”

Wayne’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing.”

 

That night, Wayne drove to Sara’s house. Darry met him on the porch, closing the front door against a waft of acrid smoke. They stood out in the cool night where bugs bombed the porchlight.

“Darry, how are ya now?”

“Good ‘n you?”

“Oh not so bad.”

The formalities taken care of like normal, Wayne started to relax. At least Darry didn't seem angry.

“Sorry, bout what I said to Katy.” Darry said before Wayne could find the words.

Wayne stiffened. “What did you say to Katy?”

Darry smirked. “Well, I thought she told you and that’s why you're here. To sort me out.”

Wayne crossed his arms. “See now, Katy didn't tell me anything. I didn't hear anything from Katy. What did you say? Do you _need_ to be sorted out?”

“Nah. Thanks anyway, bud. But I've been sorting myself.”

“I'll take your word for that because I didn't come here to clock ya.”

“Sorry about--you know. Disappearing.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, super chief.”

Darry groaned and dropped his face in his hands. “That sick Fuck.” He scrubbed his face. “It's been four fucking years. That's twice as many years as times he did it. I should be able to--” Darry scoffed and shook his head. “Girls are easier.”

“Then we’ll stick with girls.”

The look Darry leveled on Wayne was indecipherable. It seemed sad but then amused. “You ain't even had a proper toe curlin’ with a girl.”

“This is inappropriate to talk about.”

“Not with your best bud. You know, Angie has been after you for it.”

“Angie?” She was in Wayne’s grade. She gave the very best hummers. And she was the first of all the girls to put Wayne's fingers in her box, which was something he never would have deemed polite behavior on his own. No matter how many times he saw it in a porno. Real life was always so different, no place seemed the right place to do such a thing.

Darry laughed and shoved his shoulder against Wayne’s. “Figure it out.”

Feeling like all the unpleasantness was addressed and put to rest, Wayne straightened and turned to formally face Darry. “You want to work on the farm?”

“I'll be there normal time tomorrow.”

“This ain't chorin. It’s a real job. We’ll pay you and everything. Mom says you can live out of the spare room.”

Darry’s jaw went slack. Wayne waited. Darry looked over his shoulder at the closed door. A bad cough could be heard through the wood. He looked back and stuck out his hand. “Does this make you my boss?”

“It makes me the son of your boss.”

“Assistant manager, then?”

They shook hands. Wayne pivoted on the spot and headed to his truck. He didn't think twice when Darry followed and climbed in the passengers side.

 

That summer Wayne had a proper toe curling with Angie and cursed that it took him so long to give it a try. They graduated. She got a job in town but came by the farm a lot. Then she was there most of the time. And then Wayne’s parents didn't really blink an eye when she started staying whole nights in his room and a place in the driveway became the designated parking place for her jeep.

Wayne and Angie were nineteen and Katy and Darry were seventeen when the worst happened. Wayne’s parents left the farm together to have a date night. Katy answered the phone shortly after they expected them to have returned. She was told that some idiot hockey fans driving drunk missed a light.

Later it was clearer that Dad died on impact. Mom made it to the hospital, but died before Wayne could navigate the sled through the icy landscape fast enough to get there to say goodbye.

They were put in graves that had been dug months prior, before the ground froze solid.

It was a long, fucking cold, god awful winter.

Eventually, Wayne and Katy got used to living on their own--with Darry and Angie. Wayne ran the farm on his own. Katy did the house stuff mom used to do. Angie kept her job at Modean’s. Darry helped find another pair of hands for chorin. Squirrely Dan. He had manners which made him easy to talk to and he knew his way around an engine so Wayne liked him just fine.

No one knew exactly when Sara left. But one day, Darry casually mentioned that his mother wasn't in Letterkenny anymore. When pressed, he shrugged and said “she cut out months ago with some fella.”

A young couple moved into the house down the lane.

Some of the older dogs died, and Wayne and Katy buried them proper. No one ever brought home a new puppy to fill in the pack. Wayne figured it was for the best. Angie wasn’t exactly thrilled by bigger dogs jumping on her clothes any how.

Just like she wasn't thrilled that Darry lived in the house.

The day she asked Wayne to tell Darry to move out, Wayne objected. Angie got angry, said she didn't want to have roommates forever. Wayne asked if that meant Katy had to go, too. But Katy, Angie said, had equal rights to the property while Darry, Angie said, had no claim and so he should live somewhere else.

That altogether didn't feel right to Wayne. But Angie got so angry when he declared Darry wasn't leaving his home, that she went to her mother’s house. Wayne slept alone until Darry asked what had happened. When Wayne explained, Darry just laughed and said he could find a place to rent no problem.

By supper time that same day, Angie was back, Darry’s room was empty and three of the dogs had defected. Darry had found a trailer for rent down the road (in the other direction from the house he'd lived in with his mom.) It was small and old, but Darry said it'd be good to have his very own space for once.

Wayne hadn't thought he'd like it much, but aside from there being fewer dogs underfoot, nothing really changed. Darry was still on the farm before sunrise, there for breakfast, lunch and dinner. He just wasn't there at night.

It made sense, Wayne figured. He was probably going to marry Angie some day. And newly weds didn't exactly need a third wheel at the other end of the couch, farting and burping and picking innocent fights with Katy.

Then one day Angie told Wayne he had to stop fighting. He'd been the last man standing in a barroom brawl. His shirt was ruined with blood stains. His lip, eyebrow and knuckles were split. And because of the seriousness of the altercation, several guys went to jail and Angie nearly lost her bartending job.

So Wayne stopped fighting.

Meanwhile, Darry turned twenty two with yet another super soft birthday party, and he still never could seem to settle on a sweetie. Though it wasn't for lack of trying. Also bouncing around, Katy went through every boy in her class except for Darry.

(Surely not Darry. Wayne figured he'd _know_ if she went through Darry.)

Overall, Wayne would call himself happy. Content. Everyone was in agreement that he would one day marry Angie. Until suddenly they weren't.

She stepped out. And that was a debilitating downer. A confidence crippler.  An emasculating emergency. The only person he'd ever had sex with felt unfulfilled. A fucking knife to the back and kick to the nuts.

Darry and Katy spit fire and someone slashed tires but no one took credit. Wayne woke earlier than usual and stopped shaving so regularly--

Well, until Darry saw, stuck his tongue between his teeth with a grin and said, “The tried and true peach fuzz makes a come back. Nice; brings out the blue in your eyes.”

If Wayne didn't slingshot back to seventeen at the river with Darry staring at him, then the earth simply moved and caused him to stumble.

The next morning, he looked long and hard in the mirror at the reddish hue of his beard and the way his blue eyes did seem brighter because of it.

He shaved.

“It's important to remain composed as usual so she doesn't get the satisfaction,” Wayne explained at the breakfast table.

Katy gave him a thumbs up. “Yes. Good one, big bro. Never give her the satisfaction.”

More importantly, Wayne shaved the beard because of the way it had made Darry smile when he saw it. Troubling, that smile. That _particular_ smile. Wayne hadn't seen it in years.

As they had agreed the night Wayne hired Darry, they had stuck to dating girls these last five years. Wayne with Angie. Darry with a string of sweeties. And with that agreement, the kind of incidents that Wayne used to ignore had nearly stopped happening altogether. (Maybe a drunken look that lingered too long here or there. Maybe a brush of their knuckles standing side by side after a fight. But nothing like when they were teenagers.)

But now Wayne was single at the same time Darry was single. And Darry was being more like his old self. Looking longer. Standing closer. But Wayne needed to pump the breaks until he could regain his confidence.

A hell of a lot would be riding on it when he and Darry gave it a go-- _if_ they did. See, it wouldn't just be boys fooling around, and it wouldn't just be a handful of years of friendship and a summer job at risk. It'd be men, risking everything.

Didn't stop Wayne from laying alone in his bed at night, thinking about how much he wanted to try.

In the end, asking Darry out was easy.

“New Modean's is supposed to have a decent chicken plate. Suppose you want to have dinner there tonight?”

Darry, dusting his dirty hands on his jumper,  squinted at Wayne through the sunlight. “Like… a date?”

“Sure.”

“Kay.”

“Well alright.”

“Great.”

“Pick ya up ‘round six.”

Darry cracked a big wide smile and damn near giggled as he crossed his arms, facing Wayne with his feet at shoulder width. “Well, hold on, big shoots, why can't _I_ pick _you_ up at six?”

Thumbs in his belt loops, Wayne pivoted and strode away with a curt, “Because yer van's a shitbox,  bud.”

“She is not!”

“Is, too!” Wayne yelled without looking back.

“Isn't!”

“I'm not climbing in your fucking van,  Darry. Be ready at 6.”

They were both smiling as they walked in opposite directions.

 

The dinner part of the date technically was not any different than the hundreds of other times they had dinner and a beer together. But the beginning part was so new,  it cast a different shade on the rest of it.

Wayne had washed his truck. Showered.  Put on his best clothes. And when he pulled up to Darry’s place,  he got out and opened the truck door for Darry, but then immediately felt weird about it.  Darry snorted with laughter. “I've got no folks here for you to impress, Wayne.”

Wayne, embarrassed, looked to the porch where two old mutts of smaller toy type breeds looked on and panted heavily. “To be fair,  Jellybean and Froofroo love you like a son.”

Darry laughed. “Just don't worry about getting my door from now on. It's a little too soft.”

“Texas sized 10-4.”

Over dinner, Wayne made an effort to avoid work talk so more than one lull fell during which Darry just smiled at Wayne like he was waiting for something.

Wayne hadn't had a first date since high school so sincerely wished he'd just moved up against Darry in the barn, gotten things going straight to the fun part, and skipped this whole stupid date idea.

“Dates are just a way to get to know someone better,” Wayne said into one of the lulls.

“I'd say so.”

“Well, I can't know you any better than I already do,  can I?”

“Probably not.”

Wayne leaned over his plate,  holding Darry's eye. “Skip to toe curlin then?”

“I mean, I really don't know why we haven't been a beast with two backs this whole time.”

Grinning like boys with a plan, they stood from their table with equal abruptness, practically mirroring each other. Wayne threw a tip on the table and nodded to Gail to have the meal put on his tab. They walked quickly out to the truck and jumped in.

Wayne leaned over the center console and captured Darry’s lips, hooking him in by a gentle hand on the back of all those curls. The kiss broke open right away, and whole mouths met with bold tongues. Darry’s hands brushed Wayne's chest, shoulders, and settled; one on Wayne's neck and one on his waist.

Darry tasted like chicken wings and puppers and darts, and smelled like banana boat and his kiss sent thrills down Wayne’s back and all the way into his toes and fingertips. The kisses ended with one final wet smack and the gasp that burst out of Wayne’s throat was just plain embarrassing. Like he had no stamina and maybe for this, he didn't.

“My bed is the closest,” Darry rasped.

“Only by a half kilometer, fer fucks sake.”

“Still closer.”

With a relenting chuckle, Wayne started the truck but then sealed their mouths again. Darry chuckled throatily as he kissed back. Wayne put the truck in gear, and the kiss only broke because it was time to drive.

Darry rolled his head back on his headrest, grinning. “I feel _good_.”

“Can confirm,” Wayne winked as he reached, touched Darry’s leg and moved up toward Darry’s groin. Darry _giggled_ and knocked the hand away to put on his seat belt.

“Shit, Wayne, I mean it, I feel real good. Like, real, real good.”

“Does that mean you're going to be okay?” Wayne asked. Maybe he could have broached the topic with more grace, at a more tactful time, but the question popped out on its own.

A grin tilted Darry’s lips. “You mean, am I gonna shit bricks and bolt again?”

“I don't mean to ruin the mood by bringin’ it up.”

Darry’s hand rested on Wayne’s thigh. “You didn't, bud.”

Allowing himself to breathe out and relax, Wayne did make sure to think through how to word his next question.

Over the years, Wayne had thought a lot about what had happened that afternoon in the woods by the creek, what his father had told him, and his own observations of Darry’s ping-ponging love life. Wayne had even done some discreet looking into, via google searches, how people live with that sort of trauma. He now fully understood what had happened that day. He knew where it all went wrong, and why Darry had later said, _girls are easier_. (A statement that, frankly, Wayne had not understood, because girls were far from easy.)

Now he asked, “Is there…” he blinked one or four hard times, “Like… stuff I shouldn't try to do?”

Darry’s hand gave a little squeeze to Wayne’s thigh. After a beat of thought he said, “Don't pin me or flip me around.”

“So nothing aggressive, you could say?”

“Well, pump the breaks, I'm not saying be super _tender_ or nothin. Just don't be one sided, like I don't matter.”

Wayne fisted the wheel as his brain shuffled through some uncomfortable and unwanted imagery. “Fuck, Dar.” And, fuck, his voice was almost too tight for words.

“I'm okay, Wayne. More’n okay, actually. Don't need pity. But I do ‘preciate you're being considerate.”

“I just…” Wayne exhaled, shook his head. A lurch of head-to-toe desire felt almost the same as being three sheets to the wind pissed on gus’n’bru. “Just want you however I can get you.”

Darry shifted with a blatant crotch adjustment. “I ain't saying this is gonna be smooth, ‘cos I still ain't had a fella and got all the way through it without some shaky parts, but I trust you, Wayne. Just pause when I need you to, okay?”

“Texas sized 10-4.”

A laugh that sounded as drunk as Wayne felt bubbled out of Darry. “I feel _fuckin’ good_.”

Wayne took the turn toward Darry’s trailer feeling a heddy rush of lust and nerves and determination. Lust for more of those body-thrilling kisses. Nerves about screwing up again. Determination to keep Darry’s fuckin’good’o’meter in the red.

The moment the truck was parked, Darry jumped out. Wayne hurried to keep up. Darry circled the truck to take his hand on the way up the porch steps saying, “This is the best half date I've ever had, and I'm not just being cute.”

Wayne kissed him, with a mind not to hold him too tight, jerk him around or pin him against anything. The result was soft. Slow.

Darry broke away with a snort, “I'm not glass, super chief.”

“I'm not--M’not gonna scare you again. Not ever.”

“Whatever happened before or happens tonight, it's _not_ because I'm scared of _you_. It's my body scared of old memories.”

Wayne nodded, but his nerves had gotten the better of him and now the mood was dead. Rage boiled in his gut. He tightened his fists. “I fuckin hate him.”

“He doesn't deserve even that much thought, Wayne. He was a boogeyman who bled himself out alone on a concrete jail cell floor before his charges were even officially brought to trial.” Darry shrugged. “Not worth a goddamned thing from either of us.”

Wayne cupped Darry’s jaw. “I did some reading on the internet that… that sometimes it can be hard to speak when… So anyway, the thinking is that if you need a pause, just snapping your fingers can be the safe word.”

Darry smirked, eyes twinkling. “Did you read up on how to sex me, Wayne?”

A hot blush spread up Wayne’s neck and Darry moved in to hug him tight under his arms around his ribs. Fuck, if Darry didn't fit just right against him. Right height and everything.

When Darry spoke, his words were slightly muffled by Wayne’s shirt. “I’ll give a snap if I need to, but it's never been so bad I can't say _stop_.”

With a mind for the Do’s and Don't list and an established safe word (or snap) in place, Wayne was able to relax a little. It felt like standing in chest high water and falling backwards into the water’s embrace. He had Darry in his arms, a promised night of toe curlin’, and nothing but ideas on how to make his best friend feel like the one who mattered the most out of everybody on the planet.

He lifted Darry’s chin and kissed him… then let the kiss go hard and let his hands roam and let his horn fill out until it strained in the leg of his jeans. He picked out all of the buttons down the front of Darry’s shirt and shoved it off freckled shoulders.

Meanwhile, Darry untucked Wayne’s shirt and reached right up the front of it, going right for the nipples. They went instantly pebble hard and tall under Darry’s fingers. It was a good thing Darry put his mouth on them through the shirt materiel first, or else Wayne would have lost his control and broken a rule.

By the time they reached the bedroom, they were mostly naked and their lips were kiss swollen. They herded the dogs out of the room and the old bed frame threatened to collapse when they dropped on the mattress. Laughter, and smacking kisses, and a headboard rocking against the crooked window blinds filled the room.

Without anymore discussion on boundaries or technicalities, they both just kind of silently agreed that the night would be frottage. Even then, Darry still had a moment where he tensed, clenched his eyes and stammered, “W-w-wait. Don't…. Don't dig your nails in, okay?”

Wayne stopped humping instantly, silently vowed to chop his nails to the fucking quick, and when the tension in Darry’s body eased, he moved in and kissed every little pale pink half moon on Darry’s hip. He saw what he was doing from a kind of distance and couldn't stop.

Rather than comment on the softness of the gesture, Darry idly brushed his fingers through Wayne’s hair and when Wayne looked up to meet his eyes, Darry had a fucking beautiful smile.

Neither of them had the discipline to make it last much longer once the underwear was out of the way. As he pulled away Darry’s last bit of clothing, Wayne couldn't help but notice the old, mostly faded little burn scars, but other than brushing them once with his fingers, he paid them no mind. None of this was about that. All of it was about Them.

They came fast and at the same time.

They were Wayne and Darry: they were sweat and the taste of puppers and darts. They were silly word games in between kisses, and Darry’s ticklish belly, and Wayne self-conscious of his ears, and more than one musical lyric spoken without musical accompaniment that shouldn't have landed so hard but that laid Wayne flat every time.

The after-the-sex part had never before been the very best part, but tonight was a lifelong friendship lit up like Christmas and drunk like New Year. Wayne always had fun with Darry even if all they were doing was sitting in the sun, staring at the empty laneway.

So laying naked in the yellowish glow of an old lap, looking at Darry’s ceiling was nothing short of pure joy.

“I'm just gonna come out and say it,” Darry said. “I think I fucked up that night... when I let you say we should stick to dating girls because they’re easier.”

Thrown by the return of a forgotten years-old memory, Wayne asked, “How’s that?”

“Wull, for one thing, I didn't think you’d stay with Angie so damned long, and for ‘nother…. I was just being a coward. Wuddn’t ready to feel like this.”

Feeling drunk again, Wayne held Darry a little tighter, inhaled long and slow and whispered on the exhale, “Feels pert near perfect like this.”

“Oh, it feels amazing like this.” Darry’s playful rejoiner didn't hit its mark because his voice wobbled and broke a little on the last syllable, and he tucked his face into Wayne's shoulder. Wayne scooped him in closer and kissed his hair.

Wayne knew what this was slamming through his soul and making his body hurt, and thrill, and ache, and swell all at once. He had felt it with Angie for a bit, when things had been at their best: this teetering, dizzying happiness centered on the fundamental happiness of someone else. Like a jenga tower.

It had taken Wayne three years to actually feel this way for Angie, and even then it had been fleeting and ultimately built on illusions. But now he was half a date in with Darry and already there. And it was Rock. Fucking. Solid.

Hiding his face in the crook of Wayne’s shoulder, Darry’s eyes seeped a little bit, and Wayne understood his best friend so much more than he could ever explain to anyone. He held on and breathed Darry in and felt dizzy and _sure_ at the same time.

“Something’s gotta be done.” Wayne said, and again this just popped right out. This one was not a question but essentially a note to self. (A desperate and painfully sincere Note To Self).

“Hm?”

Fuck.

Wayne tried to find a way to explain it, but words couldn't encompass all of it. This feeling felt too new and too precious and too  _unique_ for all the cliche ways to say it to even occur to Wayne. Honestly, the best he had was mumbled into sweaty curls, “Gotta keep you, Darry.”

Darry lifted his head, and tears clung in his lashes, made them into little triangles, but he was smiling. “Then keep me.”

A super old dusty memory came to Wayne’s mind then,

" _But we love runts. We always bring home the runt.”_

_“Never ever change, baby.”_

A beautiful woman with a fierce soul that she chose to share gently with those around her. A brunette with tired but happy eyes putting her fingers through Wayne's hair and kissing his forehead.

Wayne closed his eyes against missing his mother so much it hurt, and wondered at how he had known at 13 years old, when he first saw Darry pet a puppy way too gently, he'd somehow _known_ Darry was meant to be kept in this family, like a real and true member of the pack.

The truth was, Wayne had kept Darry ever since then. He had never let Darry go, even when Angie had tried to separate them (most likely because she could read the energy, the loyalty--the outright devotion--between them. Even if at the time, it was all dressed as friendship.)

Thinking of all of this and none of it, and feeling everything, Wayne kissed Darry and gave him a smile. Darry smiled back.

Wayne knew what had to be done, but he also knew that he would ultimately give it some time to marinate.

One day, something was going to be done: he was going to marry Darry.


End file.
